


Do Come Back

by vatnalilja



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Banter, Couch Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, Friendship, Impatient Sex, Oral Sex, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 11:04:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18963970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vatnalilja/pseuds/vatnalilja
Summary: Everyone's favorite Breton shopkeep needs love, too. The Dovahkiin (unnamed, no race specified) has invested in Belethor's General Goods and continues to schlep things to his shop for sale, even after defeating Alduin.





	Do Come Back

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on my phone and read through it once to edit it. Forgive any clunkiness.

She rapped her knuckles on the side door again, then pressed her ear to heavy wood planks. Even with her keen hearing, she sensed no movement on the other side. She was sure that was due to the newly reinforced door and not her ears.

"Come on, Belethor. It's midmorning and I've got a lot of stuff I know you'll like," she called toward the second story windows. "You're gonna need it to survive Merchants Festival with a profit."

She paused, waiting for any sort of response. After another minute, she lifted her hand again. Before she could knock, though, the door opened to reveal a harried Belethor, his shirt in his hands and his long brown hair still in last night's ponytail.

"I heard you, I heard you," he said with a grumble.

"Sleep in?" she asked, smiling.

Her eyes lingered on his chest as he struggled to pull his shirt over his head. He was surprisingly well built with defined pectorals and a hint of abdominal muscles hidden underneath the right amount of dark chest hair. She snapped back to attention as he tugged the shirt's hem down over the top of his trousers.

"I'll be busy as Oblivion tomorrow, so the shop's not open today. Inventory," he said.

She peered her head in through the doorway.

"You don't have a woman in here, do you?" she asked with a grin.

"No, but I have the distinct feeling I'm about to, whether I want her in here or not," he muttered, holding the door open for her.

She clucked her tongue at him and lifted her saddle bags up off the ground, then breezed past him into the shop. She stopped short a few steps in. He had totally redone the place since she was last in. It had felt so sparse before, but he had replaced his backroom with more inventory and built a series of new shelves which all now held just about anything one might need.

"Business has been good, I see," she said as she continued and moved through the shop.

He followed behind her and held his arm out, ushering her to a set of seats near his counter.

"All thanks to my generous investor. What'd you bring me, my dear?" he asked.

She set her bags on the floor between the benches and grinned.

"It's been awhile, hasn't it?" she asked. "Feels nice to be back. Cyrodiil is too warm. But the trade there is extremely healthy."

She began pulling out small folded cloths and bags, handing them on by one to him. Before long, he had his hands full and sat down next to her to start inspecting what she had brought. Each contained a piece of jewelry of various quality. After a bit, he stopped and held up a gorgeous pair of silver earrings which he knew he could sell to the Jarl's wife through the right contact. They glinted just perfectly in the midmorning light from the nearby window.

"You outdo yourself, you know that?" he asked. "I'm already getting requests from merchants across Skyrim. It helps that you're no longer offloading things every city you wander through. One question."

"Sure," she said, sitting back and looking at his profile.

"How much of this is stolen?"

"I stopped fencing things with you a long time ago," she said.

"I'm offended," he said in a sarcastic tone. "I'm no fence."

"You've never once asked about what I've sold you. You may as well be," she said.

"It pays not to ask too many questions."

"You truly have earned your reputation, Belethor," she said with a smirk.

"Don't believe the things you hear, my dear. Why, if I did, I'd think you were a dragonborn werewolf with a set of Nightingale armor in your pack," he said as he slid his gaze over to her and draped his arm on the top of the bench behind her.

"Hearsay. There's no way I'd stay a werewolf," she said. "I've already done too many dirty deeds for the Daedra. I don't need to be beholden to Hircine."

"I'm sure he was disappointed. How many Daedric gods have a claim on your soul, anyway?"

"Enough for it to be interesting when I die."

"And you think I have a reputation," he said.

"Just because I am dragonborn doesn't mean I'm a paragon of virtue."

"The fact that you put money into my shop is proof. Now you can either stay and help me take stock of everything in here, or you can get out of my hair for the next ten hours."

"I was just leaving," she said, bumping her shoulder against his cheerfully.

"Meet me at the Mare later tonight. The mead is on me," he said, his fingers brushing gently across the back of her neck.

"I'll see you then,  _ partner _ ," she said.

\---

The Mare's evening crowd let up a cheer as she entered, several patrons lifting up their drinks. She hadn't made it ten steps in before she was holding two ales. Several off-duty guards tried to ensnare their thane in conversation but she dodged and weaved with a lot of laughter until she made it to the other side of the room. 

There, she found the Breton with two bottles of mead waiting at a back table. He had put on a nicer tunic and had apparently found a hairbrush since she last saw him. By the fine quality of his clothes, it was quite apparent he was doing well.

She sat down and handed him one of the ales.

"You look fancy," she said.

"And you still look like an adventurer," he replied.

"I made the mistake of checking in with the Companions," she said. "My reward was a sparring match and several rounds of ale."

"A hero's life," he said. "Better you than me."

"When things look tough, you lock your door and hide under your counter."

"There's no profit in being dead," he said. 

She bumped her mug up against his and then downed her now eighth ale of the day in one long gulp.

"Spoken like a true coward," she said.

Her eyes glimmered and she flashed a grin at him, suddenly pointing her finger in his direction. He gave her an unsure look--she was about to say something without much thought, but he could never predict what it’d actually be.

"A coward with a surprisingly nice chest. I've never once seen you put effort into anything. How are you so well built?" 

"Months of hauling around the crap you bring to the store," he said, now matching her grin. "You know... we could go back to the shop and so you can flatter me in private."

A snort escaped her and she rolled her eyes, but didn't stop smiling. He was a sleaze, true to his reputation, but she had never seen him with a woman. Not even the serving girls flirted with him. She was sure he wore out his welcome when he first arrived to Whiterun. That, accompanied with the fact that the city was full of men with much better faces. 

"You've grown on me, Bel... Thor? What do your friends call you?"

"My acquaintances call me Belethor," he said mostly in jest but she sensed his demeanor change slightly.

She had hit a sore spot with that question.

"What do the girls call you in bed?" she asked. 

"Why don't we find out together?" 

She sat back in her chair and tapped her chin, staring at him long and hard. His brow perked as he was unsure again what was going on in her mind. She tilted her head this way and that, her eyes narrowing. Finally, she grabbed a bottle of mead and broke its seal. 

"I can't imagine either. To tell the truth, I can't imagine being in bed with you," she said as she pulled her knife out to pry the cork from the bottle. 

"And after the mead?" he asked. 

"I'll probably head back to Jorrvaskr."

"Right," he grumbled. 

His suddenly dour expression caught her off guard. He was such a smart ass that she never anticipated anything to perceptibly bother him. But his mood had turned immediately, and it wasn't for show. She sighed and filled his cup first once the bottle was open. 

"I'll stay with you, partner. If nothing else, we can drink all night and then you can be terribly hungover for Merchants Festival," she said. 

"Oh, don't feel like you need to sacrifice your time for me," he said bitterly. 

"Drink that," she said as she stood abruptly, grabbing both bottles. 

He did as instructed, giving her yet another unsure look. Once he was done, she grabbed him by the bicep and hauled him up to his feet. Her strength surprised him as he suddenly found himself standing. Perhaps it was the booze, but as he felt heat course through his body, he considered the idea that he might be turned on by her brawn. 

She wrapped her arm around his and the two of them left the tavern. The trip across the small market was quiet with only the sounds of the cavorting behind them and the mead bottles clanking against each other between her fingers. At his front door, he untangled himself from her, unstrung the neck of his tunic, and pulled out the shop key from an inner breast pocket. She ran her finger across the old thieves guild sign on the door frame, which she had sanded down after putting money into the place. His shop was now off limits.

"Might as well go upstairs," he said once they were inside. "I'll grab another bottle or two. Go on up." 

She made her way up the side staircase to the loft. Everything was much more extravagant than she had last seen. She wandered over to the accounting book on his desk and flipped it open. Business was definitely good, and he was honest when he said he'd been getting orders again from outside of Whiterun. Solitude, Winterhold, Markarth... the trade was good. And her association with him had made him quite comfortable. 

"Everything meet your approval?"

She closed the large book as he hit the top step. 

"You really are doing well. You haven't had to sell any children lately," she said. 

"Not for months," he said with a chuckle she couldn't decipher. 

"I'm going to continue to assume you never actually sold people, Belethor," she said. "If I ever find out--" 

"Relax. I'm not that slimy," he said. 

He put his hand under her elbow and guided her around the corner to a wooden bench draped in furs. They set the now several bottles of mead down on an old shipping box he had pushed up against the loft railing and used as a makeshift table. The whole place was dim, but he knew it by heart and she was used to stumbling around in caves. He dug in a nearby table drawer and pulled out some flint and lighting sticks. 

Instead of waiting, she leaned over and, with a snap of her finger, produced a small spout of flame, lighting one of the candles on the old shipping box. She then used it to light the others as he returned his supplies back to the drawer. 

"What can't you do?" he teased.

"Flame is just about the easiest spell, even you could learn it," she said, leaning on one of the many pillows that made the bench more comfortable. 

He was Breton, but she'd never once seen him use any magic.

"I'm flattered you think so highly of me, dovahkiin."

He was being smarmy and she could not just hear it, but feel it, too. He only used her title in a sarcastic way, as if she were a difficult, spoiled princess. She hadn't asked to be dragonborn and typically everyone held her in some level of esteem. Even the remaining Stormcloaks gave her some respect after she shouted Ulfric straight into Sovngarde. Hell, even Ulfric treated her with respect during her brief time in Sovngarde.

But not Belethor. He was not wooed by her titles or deeds. And he didn't hesitate to remind her so. But there was something about his low-grade disdain that made her feel comfortable. Around him, she could let down her guard.

"Pour the damn mead already," she said.

He looked around for a moment then cursed under his breath. 

"Let me get some fine goblets to the lady's liking," he said as he stood. 

He disappeared into his bedroom for a moment, then returned with the promised goblets which were decorated with several gorgeous gems. When he sat back down and handed her one, she recognized them. They were from Gauldurson’s crypt. She had sold them to him ages ago, and he had kept them. 

He took the open bottle and emptied it in her cup before opening another. She watched as he pried the cork out and found herself admiring his arms as he did so. He had no business being so physically fit. When she caught herself, she clamped her eyes shut and wrinkled her nose.

"What is that face for?" 

"Nothing," she said quickly and popped her eyes open again. 

"Good," he said and moved closer to her. 

He smelled good. Precisely, he smelled like exotic oils from Elsweyr. She was so busy trying to place the scent that she barely felt his arm slip around her waist. By the time she realized it, it was already in place, his hand resting gently on her hip. It felt so strangely easy that she didn't protest.

"I expected to be slapped by now," he said.

"If you were anyone else, that'd be true," she replied. 

"I expected it precisely because of who I am," he said. 

"Oh I don't know. I've met bards who've made moves on me way faster than once a year." 

She sipped her wine and gave him a long look. He wasn't ugly, but he also wasn't particularly good looking. He had a weak chin and a sharp nose, and his facial hair was not remotely fashionable for the region. But he had thick, healthy brown hair. Sure, the twins were easier on the eyes but they rarely smelled nice or looked freshly bathed. There was something to a man who kept clean, who wore laundered clothes, and who smelled like something other than sweat.

She realized that she had slowly been leaning into him more and more. He hadn't moved, letting her encroach his space as he stretched his legs out in front of him, settling into the furs beneath them. 

"You had to talk me into selling these goblets," she said. 

"I remember. It was the most stubborn you've ever been," he said with a grin. 

"I wanted to keep them, but I didn't even have a place to put them back then. I'm happy to see you kept them," she said.

"I couldn't bring myself to sell 'em," he said. "Every time I tried, all I saw was how sad you looked as you handed them over." 

She reached up behind his head and fiddled with the strip of leather holding his hair back until it came free. She combed his hair out and pulled some of it over his shoulders. A small sound of pleasure escaped him as she did so. Her fingers swept over his clavicle, which were visible from his loosening of the ties at his neck, then along where his shoulder met his neck and back into his hair. 

"I didn't think you were so sentimental," she said softly. 

"I'm not," he said. 

He set his mead down and ran his other hand along her leg. She was not wearing trousers underneath her own tunic, so he found skin quickly. His touch moved up under the cloth and his thumb stroked her thigh idly as he gauged her reaction. 

The night was warm, about as warm as Whiterun got. She could still hear the music and shouting at the tavern across the way. Her eyes drifted shut, not because she was tired or drunk, but simply comfortable. It was a perfect summer evening. She took a sip of the mead, swishing the sweet honey taste around in her mouth for a bit before swallowing. 

His hand slid further up her leg, pushing the hem of her tunic with it, and she felt him lean into her, shifting his weight. His hand dipped toward her inner thigh, squeezing the supple flesh there. She could feel his warm breath on her ear. If he were any closer, he'd be on her lap. 

Using both hands, he pulled her tunic up to the top of her legs, revealing her small undergarment made of soft tundra cotton. He groaned very quietly at the sight. He had gone from tentatively aroused to fully turned on, and when she didn't stop him from untying the side of garment, he felt his fingers tremble slightly.

She let out a long, content sigh as his hand drifted under the garment and cupped her mons. She shifted her goblet from one hand to the other, resting it on the empty side of the bench without letting it go. He refocused his attention to her face, watching her expression as he pressed his middle and ring finger past her first set of labia, finding the soft intricate tissue beneath. 

"This is nice," she said, her voice nearly a whisper. "A warm night, some decent drink, and a clever Breton stroking my clit. I could do this all evening."

He wrapped his free arm around her shoulder and neck, using his hand to turn her chin toward him, the pressed his mouth to hers. His kiss was eager, hungry for her. He wound his hand in her hair at the base of her head as their lips met again and again. He felt her relax entirely in his hold, which gave him pause. She was really letting him do this. His lips pulled from hers and moved to where her ear met her jaw as he stroked the now rigid bud between her legs. She let her legs drift open further without thought. 

"There aren't many men in Skyrim who think first about a woman's pleasure," she said. 

She felt him chuckle against her. 

"As if there was any other way you'd let me in," he said. 

"Don't get ahead of yourself," she said. 

He freed his hands and she felt her pussy ache at the lack of his touch. But before she could protest, he slid down to the ground on his knees between her legs. He reached up, grabbed her hips, and pulled her toward him with little grace. She let out a small cry that became laughter and she pulled her tunic up even further.

He tugged her undergarment down her leg and over her boot, discarding it. He then pushed her thighs wide and briefly admired her pink folds in the dim candle light. Even with the light so low, he could see how wet she had become. Her scent was strong and bewitching. With his fingers, he spread her labia further and pushed his face into her pussy, his lips around her clit, his tongue pressing against it. 

"By the Nine," she moaned, resting her hand on his head. 

It had been a long time since someone had given her head. She'd fucked plenty of men over the years, but the last person who had their head between her legs was a gorgeous Redguard woman ages ago. Even men who were self-professed lovers at best rubbed her clit for about as long as they felt necessary--just long enough to get her wet to fuck. She usually made herself come during sex. 

She felt his fingers prod her opening, then two fingers sliding inside of her. He stroked her from within while his tongue flicked her clit. The sensation was amazing, the most pleasurable feeling she had experienced in years. 

"You silver tongued devil," she said. "You should have done this sooner. Gods."

Her compliments resulted in more vigor from him, his fingers fucking her faster, his tongue moving like lightning. Her hand gripped her goblet of mead tighter as she felt a slow numbing warmth start in her feet. She tried to clear her head and not think too much about it, lest she got in her own way of coming. As the minutes went on, she felt the warmth bloom. 

"I'm so close," she whispered as she closed her eyes. 

Her breath now came in small pants as she mewed quietly. She felt simultaneously as if she were on fire and floating in still waters. The sensation was deep and immense, but felt as if it could disappear at any moment. He changed nothing, only increasing the intensity. 

Her mews became loud groans and almost unintelligible pleas to various gods. He pulled his face away and quickly replaced his tongue with his fingers, watching her as he rubbed her clit back and forth. He felt his cock twitch as her face tensed. He wanted to be deep inside her so badly. 

She went silent and her eyes, which had been clenched tight, suddenly opened and stared back at him, her mouth falling open. After a moment, she let out one long groan that filled the whole shop and every muscle in her body that had been tense suddenly relaxed. Warmth cascaded through her, her limbs feeling like they were floating somewhere near her, but not a part of her. The sense of release was overpowering. For a few moments, she had no thoughts, only a rush of emotion.

He rested his folded arms on the tops of her legs, waiting and watching. With a smirk, he enjoyed the idea that he had reduced the slayer of Alduin, a hero of all of Tamriel, to a quivering puddle. Him. A shopkeep.

"Whatever you want, do it," she said in a dreamy voice. 

He considered moving to the bedroom, but his patience was rapidly deteriorating. He stood up and took her by the waist and shoulder, laying her down lengthwise on the bench, then set her goblet on the floor. He positioned himself between her legs, kneeling one leg on the bench with his other foot on the floor. After undoing his belt, he let it fall to the ground as he pulled his tunic up over his head. Her deep, nearly black eyes focused on his chest and her hands reached up to touch the soft dark hair that trailed from his chest to his now sagging trousers, which revealed the lines at his hips that angled toward his groin. 

"You must have put something in my drink, because for some odd reason, I'm thinking that you're extremely handsome," she said. 

"All I did was make you come," he said. "A powerful tactic."

She grinned and watched him tug his trousers down to his thighs, his cock now free and quite hard. He didn't bother to finish undressing either her or himself. Her tunic had bunched up to her belly, but she was still mostly dressed. He inhaled sharply as her hand moved from his chest to his cock, her fingers circling his tip over his foreskin. She pushed the skin back, revealing the head of his cock, which glinted with precome. 

He hooked his hands underneath her knees and pushed her legs up and back, then pressed his cock against her. His head slipped in easily, she was incredibly wet. Now he groaned as he slid himself inside of her inch by inch, until he was fully within her, his balls pressed up against her ass. 

"Gods, you feel good," he said softly. "I'll make love to you another night, but right now, I'm going to fuck you as hard as I can."

She couldn't hold the laugh in. There was something delicious about his eagerness. She wasn't going to be upset with him, not after he had done such a good job of eating her out. 

"Fuck me as hard as you want," she said. 

His hands moved from her legs and grabbed her hips roughly, his fingers digging into her skin. With that, he began sliding himself in and out of her, slowly only for the first few thrusts before losing all semblance of patience. He felt her tighten around him, which nearly made him lose his mind as he now slammed into her with no consistent pace. With each thrust, he pulled her by her hips into him. Eventually, he grasped the back of bench with one hand and leaned over her, pressing his other into the furs beneath her at her side. His long hair fell around his now red face and she reached up, smiling as she gathered it in her hands, holding it back. 

"Come inside me, Belethor," she whispered. 

"Fuck," he muttered as she clenched and then released him, pulsing his cock with her muscles. "Fuck." 

He quickened his pace for a few more thrusts and then let out a ragged moan as he came. The sensation was like bliss, but with each additional thrust, his cock grew more and more sensitive. He didn't want to pull out as he filled her with his warm come, so he finally came to a stop and groaned a few more times. After a long moment, he finally let his quickly softening cock slide out of her, leaving a trail of milky fluid. 

He wished he had moved her to the bed, because he badly wanted to collapse.

Although a bit lightheaded, he stood and took her by the arms, pulling her up from the bench. She got up and let him herd her into his bedroom. He held his trousers up as they walked. His bedroom was small but plush. Everything was a very royal shade of red, from his bedding to the rugs. The four poster bed was huge and covered in finely embroidered pillows. 

He set her down on his bed and sat next to her, pulling his boots off, along with everything else. She did the same and the two of them crawled into his bed. It was too warm for the blankets, so he kicked them back half heartedly and pulled a clean linen sheet up over them, saying nothing as he did so. She watched him go through the motions, but once they were under the sheet, she snaked her arms around him and cozied up to his chest, her bare breasts against him. 

He didn't say anything, but he also didn't protest when she kissed him softly for several long seconds. By all logic, as a savior, she should be in a palace somewhere, her boots being licked by grateful nobles. But she avoided her fame by continuing to live her normal life. She walked through his door this day like she had the first time, fresh from adventure and looking to offload her spoils. She'd be back on the road again soon, after being around just long enough to slightly annoy him with her questions and observations. She was good at that--bothering him the precise amount before leaving with a wave. Just enough to make it clear she was interested and then for him to wonder when she'd be back. 

He let out a long, content sigh, his hands drifting down to her ass and squeezing it, gently grinding her body against his. At this rate, he wouldn't even bother opening for Merchants Festival. 

"How about we keep the door locked and just do this all day tomorrow?" he said.

"We don't make any money during the festival, anyway," she said.

"Glad we see eye to eye, partner," he muttered, feeling a tightening in his groin. "You and me, we're the only people who aren't complete fools." 


End file.
